Washington, D.C., United States of America
February 2020
Clarence Thorpe looked at the lanyard he was just given. Above his name was the logo of the Share Our Wealth Society Political Action Conference, better known as “SWSPAC” – which he later found out to be pronounced “swiss pack” for convenience. Beneath his name read “Observer, Centre Party, Commonwealth.” The bespectacled student had been selected by his party’s student wing to attend the conference being held in Washington, D.C. His other colleague would be late by a day, so he, and Englishman, was to brave the perils of obnoxious American politics.
He glanced around the corridor outside the main hall. He noted the booths that lined both sides of the hallway, representing various organizations eliciting the support of the conference goers. One was from Jubilee University, an evangelical Christian school in West Monroe, Louisiana dedicated to promoting theological conservatism and the political principles of the Biblical jubilee. Cynics argued that it was just an indoctrination center for parents of Democratic voters. Clarence just shrugged. Didn’t matter to a Cambridge student, anyway. He saw another booth for the Reform League, a similar organization dedicated to the implementation of Sabbatarian laws, which had found significant support from Unions which also had their booths. Of course, the Democratic Party had their own booth, arguably the most elaborate and staffed with smiley, attractive student activists attempting to remind the conference attendees that they were the party of Huey Long and Billy Graham. Clarence noted that few attendees actually stopped by to hear the spiel of the party representatives. Perhaps an indication of the mood among the otherwise party faithful.
His reverie was interrupted by a particularly grating, almost nasal voice. “Clarence Thorpe, I presume?” The statement was said with a playful sarcasm that Clarence had a difficult time interpreting as American friendliness or contempt. When Clarence got a better glimpse of the man in question, he opted for the latter.
Clarence nevertheless put out his hand. “I am, indeed. And you are?”
The other man grabbed his lanyard, pointing to his name. “James. James Fernandez.” Despite the name, the man looked very much white, sporting a crew cut, bushy eyebrows, and a wide, toothy smile that wreaked of insincerity. He wore a suit that seemed out of place on the young man, who barely looked older than a college freshman. On his lapel was an American flag pin and an off-white circular enamel pin that read “Share Our Wealth Society” around the edges and the society’s motto “Every Man a King” in the center. Everything about the man indicated that he was trying too hard. Clarence disliked him instantly.
“I’ll be your liaison for the conference,” James continued. “We’re eager to building connections with our friends across the pond. Although…” He glanced around as if he were looking for eavesdroppers. “Between you and me, I don’t know how far you guys can go with your leader being a woman. If you ask me, it’s begging for trouble.”
Clarence raised an eyebrow. “Why is that a problem? In your country, Helen Marshall was an effective president. And besides, isn’t SWSPAC’s preferred a candidate a woman?”
James waved his hand dismissively. “Mama Marshall was effectively a man. And, between you and me, Mary McClintok doesn’t have it all there, if you catch what I’m saying. Otherwise, women just don’t have the temperament for such a demanding position unless they think like a man.” He pointed to his head to emphasize his point. “And I’m not sure if either Lilly Thomas or McClintok can,” the former being the Centre Party’s leader.
Clarence, a bit tired from his journey, was not eager to get into an argument with his liaison. “Right,” he said, “where do I need to be?”
“Well, we should be starting shortly,” James said. “Just follow me.”
The two made their way down the corridor of the convention center until they passed through a set of doors leading into the main hall. The room was just starting to fill up as attendees jockeyed for position in what was standing room only. Music from popular artists played over the speakers but was drowned out by the growing hum of attendee voices. Hanging on the walls of the conference room were portraits of notable figures in the society’s history: Gerald L. K. Smith, the first head of the society who was cut down by an assassin’s bullet in the 1950’s; Billy Graham, who once headed the society before becoming United States President; Hugh Beaumont, a Methodist minister who championed Sabbatarianism; among others. At the front of the room was a dais, draped and lined with dozens of American flags. Front and center was a podium featuring the logo of the Share Our Wealth Society. Featured above the dais was an especially large portrait of President Huey Long. A bright blue banner that hung beneath the banner read his famous slogan, “Every Man a King, But No One Wears a Crown.” To Clarence, the atmosphere was almost religious. Given that a significant portion if not a majority of the society’s members were evangelical Christians, Clarence thought, it should not have been surprising.
After a couple of minutes of boring chatter with his liaison, Clarence noted that the hall was now packed to capacity. A quick glance at his watch indicated that the opening ceremony was about to begin, which he welcomed heartily. Lights dimmed all around the hall as voice came over the speakers, “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the 83rd annual meeting of the Share Our Wealth Society Political Action Conference.” A boisterous cheer rang throughout the hall following the statement. “Before we begin, please welcome Ronnie Bright, President of the Share Our Wealth Society.” The crowd roared again as a middle-aged man in a double-breasted suit approached the podium.
“Thank you, and welcome to SWSPAC!” More cheers followed. “Welcome to SWSPAC. We’re glad to have you with us again as we work to uphold the legacy and work of the great Kingfish, Huey Pierce Long.” Again, more cheers. “We have a great, great itinerary this year of some truly remarkable people from here and around the world. Believe me, it is a privilege to have some of the fine speakers that we have for you all.” As the speaker went on and on about who was slated for the upcoming days, leading Clarence to take a look at the agenda for the conference. He recognized a few of the names listed: two senators, including Senator McClintok; several congressmen; a governor; three members of the Federal Reserve; several activists; a few media personalities; a Huey Long impersonator; and even a pastor. As he went through the list, one thing stood out to him. Towards the end of the conference, a recorded message from President Alec Reed would be played for the attendees rather than an in-person speech.
Reed initially began as a popular president, both within and without the Democratic Party. He managed to keep one foot in the two main factions of the Democratic Party: the Bible-thumping Share Our Wealth faction and the libertine, pro-business faction, both of which were now at each other’s throats in the divisive primary. However, a sinking economy, coupled with Reed’s largely dull demeanor had led to a sharp decline in public support. Reed’s decline exposed the rift that had grown within the Democratic Party, and his “all things to all people” approach only served to alienate him from both sides. Perhaps Reed understood that he was persona non grata here, Clarence thought. He was probably right.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” the speaker concluded. “It is my honor to present Miss Emily Garrard along with the Share Our Wealth Society Honor Guard as we sing our national anthem.” The hall grew quiet as the honor guard made their way to the stage along with the Miss Garrard. She was quite beautiful with honey colored hair, a charming smile, and a catching figure. Unfortunately, what she had in physical charms she lacked in vocal talent as she belted “The Star-Spangled Banner” in the most spine-shattering way possible. Clarence later found out that her brother was a prominent radio talk show host who spouted Longist rhetoric over the airwaves. That, instead of talent, had to be the reason that she could ruin an otherwise beautiful song.
This was going to be a long week, Clarence thought.
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The next few days were a blur for Clarence as he gained the education of a lifetime. Lecture after lecture of different figures spouting more or less the same thing: “We must hold the line!” “Why would we turn from God’s plan?” “We can’t let the corporations fleece us.” “We cannot serve God and Mammon.” Platitudes meant to bolster the faithful. As the talks, roundtables, and forums went on, Clarence couldn’t help but notice the big elephant in the room. Few, if any, references were made concerning the sitting President, odd given that Reed was a Democrat. As the conference dragged on, Clarence couldn’t help but think back to the first day when he noticed few paying attention to the Democratic Party’s booth. He could sense that there was growing animosity towards the party leadership, though none of the speakers would dare say it outright. Only in vague platitudes and veiled threats of political destruction (and in some cases God’s wrath) could the speakers hint at the feelings that brew beneath the surface.
“You see, Lawrence,” James told him one night, after having a few at the convention center bar, “the Democrats hate us. We’re an embarrassment. We only made the Democrats the party that they are today! But NOOOO! They want to suck up to AT&T and United Tech and all the rest so they can be ‘relevant.’ Relevant! Like Hell! What’s this party coming to? They want to appeal to degenerates and money grubbers. But we can’t say anything about it because we want to be in good graces with the party leadership and hope that the next Democratic president gives us a few scraps.” These drunken rants gave Clarence perhaps the only real insight into what was actually going on.
In fact, James wasn’t too far from the truth. Senator Mary McClintok of Texas, the champion of the Longist cause, was running against California Governor Michael Sanchez, a moderate Democrat who many saw as the only chance to come anywhere to beating the Alliance candidate. Sanchez promised to appeal to swing voters that the party desperately needed to hang on to power, but it came at the cost of shedding some Longist sacred cows, including lower corporate taxes. The Democratic leadership was rumored to be working behind the scenes with party stalwarts and bosses to ensure his victory in the primaries. These rumors only stoked suspicions within an already frustrated base and threaten to split the party in two should Sanchez be pushed through. While never mentioned by the conference speakers, Clarence could sense a common phrase being whispered on the lips of many attendants: “third party.”
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The last day of the conference couldn’t come soon enough for Clarence. The President’s recorded message played for the attendees in the conference hall. While no one booed, the cheers were clearly half-hearted at best. Clarence thought that if he had come during a different year, the mood would have been much better. Not that he planned on coming next year. Maybe the Centre Party office would send some other lucky fellow to endure this misery.
Following the President’s message, the president again approached the podium. “As we close our conference, let’s join in in singing your favorite and my favorite song – written by the Kingfish himself – ‘Every Man a King!’” A Dixieland band that had been brought in from New Orleans started up with the intro to Huey Long’s campaign song. As they did so, several activists in the crowd unraveled a banner that read “Mama Mary or Third Party!” Clarence could see the president’s eyes bulge out of his head in sheer panic. Cameras were on this event, and the perception that SWSPAC was fostering third party aspirations could diminish the conference’s influence in the Democratic Party. However, there was nothing he could do about it as the attendees sang with gusto:
Why weep or slumber America,
Land of Brave and True?
There’s castles and clothing and food for all,
All belongs to you!
Every man a king! Every man a king!
For you can be a millionaire,
But there’s something belonging to others.
There’s enough for all people to share.
When it’s sunny June, and December, too,
Or in the wintertime or spring,
There’ll be peace without end, every neighbor a friend,
With every man a king!
The crowd erupted in cheers as long suppressed feelings made themselves known. The crowd began to chant “Every Man a King” and “Mama Mary.” Clarence couldn’t help but notice James getting into the spirit as well, even chanting “Mama Mary” with the best of them. He looked again towards the platform as he saw the chairman slowly back away from the center of the stage. If he were trying to avoid the cameras, it was probably too late. The feelings of the faithful were now in the open. The primaries could only get worse from here.
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I hope this to be the first in a series of vignettes. Original, I know. However, I'd like to give this a world a little life here. I'd like your thoughts.